When my time comes around
by nyclove3
Summary: No one writes songs about the ones that come easy...Oliver and Felicity's relationship as they leave Starling City and try to start a new life together. Post Season 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Me no own Arrow.

 **A/N:** Title taken from Hozier's 'Work Song' because it gives me so many Olicity feels. I've rated this T for now but I'm pretty sure that will get bumped to M at some point because I know I won't be able to help myself. I'll give you a warning when that happens. Anyway, I hope you like it and thanks so much for reading. Cheers. :D

* * *

It's late.

Or maybe it's early when Felicity stares at her watered reflection in the mirror, the bathroom still filmy with heat and condensation from her earlier shower. She rubs at the puffiness ringing her eyes red, her movements slow and weary as she drops her towel and struggles for a second to thread her feet into a clean pair of pajamas. The fresh laundered scent is a comforting relief now that she feels less dungeon-y and a little more human. More... _Felicity_.

She's exhausted though, not just from the events of the last twenty four hours but somehow it feels like the weeks and months of mental and emotional stress have been lying in wait like a row of dominoes stacked to fall, and now everything is over – for good this time, hopefully - the stack is falling and spiraling finally and Felicity's not sure when the noise will ever stop.

Because this morning - or maybe sometime yesterday - she was dying in Nanda Parbat. _Dying_. Or so she thought. They all had. But now she's very much alive and Oliver is too, and the city is safe and her bags are packed and they're leaving together with no destination in mind and she's tired, so incredibly tired.

There are still a million things she needs to do before she leaves – tell her neighbor that she's going away, call her mom and listen to her squeal down the phone for five minutes, talk to Diggle to make sure he's okay, write Laurel and Thea a comprehensive list of computer shortcuts that they might potentially need at some point when the city needs saving again – next week if anything is to go by – the list goes on and her brain is buzzing with it. But right now all Felicity can really think about is soft fluffy pillows and cool white sheets and sleep. So much sleep. Sleep all the time.

The second she flicks off the bathroom light there's a knock at the door because _of course_ there is, and Felicity groans at the ceiling, her heart racing all the while. She knows exactly who it is and even his knock is as decisive as he is about her now – about _them_. It still catches her off guard sometimes, even now, after everything.

" _I want to be with you,"_ he'd said.

Blowing out a steadying breath, Felicity fusses with the still-damp waves of her hair as she pads barefoot to the door. Her fingertips rest barely against the wood for a few seconds – because there's a new beginning on the other side now and she just needs the extra time to ponder the enormity of that knowledge – but she can't stop her face from breaking with a blissful grin, tiredness and chaotic thoughts be damned.

" _If you'll come with me,"_ he'd said, too.

Burying her smile into her fist, Felicity counts to three and wills it away.

When she finally opens the door her pulse flutters like her heart has taken flight because Oliver's there, returning the smile just as widely, and dear Google his happiness and the way it colors his face so brightly is her new favorite thing. She wants to bathe in it or rub his face on her face or something slightly less creepy and inappropriate that she'll think about tomorrow.

Until then, she takes a moment to scan him everywhere – not a new habit by any means but there's something unfamiliar in the action now that she's not cataloging injuries or searching for blood – and as she takes in the breadth of his shoulders in his leather jacket and the duffle bag hanging from his fingers and draped at his feet, Felicity bites her lip against the charge of desire that all this handsomeness is hers and _wants_ to be hers alone.

"Hi," she says on a giddy rush of breath.

"Hey," Oliver breathes around a quiet sort of laugh, smiling and seeming unable to stop and maybe he's giddy too, as much as the Brooding King can be. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Yes. Sorry." Felicity shakes her head at herself, moving back to let him enter and bolting the door behind him. "I wasn't expecting you tonight. I thought you'd want to spend some time with Thea before we left."

"We had dinner and talked for a while," Oliver says, eyes searching her living room like he's seeing it for the first time. "I just didn't want to spend another night without you."

Her heart leaps again because he's looking at her now the way he always does, so quietly intense, like she's the answer to every question he's ever had, and the sincerity on his face warms her chest and everywhere and nope. She's still not used to the knowledge, or the presence of him in her apartment – filling the gaps in her life the way that she's longed for, however much she tried to resist.

"Oh," she says finally, not sure what else to say against the words so weighted with meaning that it almost knocks her off her feet.

It must be the wrong thing though because Oliver freezes, his face closing off slightly, his finger and thumb rolling with uncertainty as he asks, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No! No, I don't -" She stops with a sigh, snatching at his un-bandaged hand before he can move away and thumbing the veins so carefully there. _She has a thing for his hands – remembers how they felt skating softly up her naked spine_.

"Of course I want you here. I don't want to be without you either."

"That's good," he murmurs, the timbre rich and low in his throat makes her toes curl.

"But I'm just. I don't." She watches herself start to fiddle restlessly with the zipper on his jacket, unsure what else to do with her hands as everything strangled inside comes tumbling out finally. "This is a lot to process, you know? Earlier today I thought you were the Heir to the Demon who left me and all of our friends to die, and I've only just realized how ridiculous that sounds when you say it out loud. But now you're here and you want to be with me and I quit my job and we're leaving the city that you've worked so hard to save and it's a lot. There's not enough mint chip in the world to deal with this."

The happiness that had earlier softened the shadows on his face seems to bleed out of him and he just sort of sinks against the weight of everything that led them here, his shoulders slumping, his duffle bag dropping from his fingers with a dull thud.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out.

"No, listen." Felicity catches his face, guides his eyes away from their feet. "I don't want to add to your guilt because you already have enough of that to eat away at you for a lifetime, probably two lifetimes knowing how much you're like some kind of guilt collector – if that's even a thing - but there _are_ things that need to be said."

"I know."

"And I flew today," she continues, wanting desperately to lighten the moment - even though he deserves to hear everything she's saying right now, she can't bear to see him so sad because then she's sad too. "I flew in Ray's suit which is basically made out of tin, at least I'm guessing from the sound it made when I tried to walk afterwards, and I'm afraid of heights, Oliver. I just can't believe I did that."

She has a flash of the dam and the depth of the water, the wind rushing in her ears as she sped for his body endlessly falling and spinning and -

"You saved my life," Oliver says, seemingly unaware of her thoughts and the rapidness of her breath caught in her throat as he curls his hands against her hips and tugs her closer, the pads of his fingers pressing into the flesh of her ass slightly. "You're amazing."

"I know. No. I mean I know I saved your life. Well. I had a hand in it. But that was pretty amazing though. The flying."

He grins, delighted by her, and ducks to brush her nose against the tip of his own. "It was."

Felicity huffs a laugh because he really means it, too. "The point is," she says, sobering a little in the face of his handsome charm. "We have a lot to talk about."

"We do. And we will. I promise."

There's a bite in her throat and a fire in her chest that wants to call him out on his promises, all the ones he made so earnestly with his words and his eyes, but she nods and slumps forward instead, her forehead resting heavy against his chest as she closes her eyes without any real control of them.

"Okay."

"We've got the time now," he adds, a note of joy and wonder, a hint of a smile shaping the words. "Just you and me and time. We'll figure it out."

"Yeah. That's...good. Together."

Oliver draws both arms around her, gently cupping the back of her head like she's the most precious thing, and Felicity snuggles closer, turning to press her ear to the steady beat of his heart.

Her heart loves the sound.

Felicity's not really sure how long they stand like that, holding onto each other in the dark silence of her living room lulled by the monotonous tick of the clock, but she jolts enough that she thinks she might have actually dozed off against his chest for a moment, her mind cloudy and confused like she's missed something or skipped an hour or a day.

"I'm so tired," she mumbles through a yawn, nudging her chin against his sternum as she peers up at him. "Are you tired?"

"Exhausted," he says, and she loves the vibration of his voice, a delicious buzz hum against her skin that reminds her that _he's here and he's alive_ _and he's here_.

With her. After all this time.

She can feel another brain spiral building at the thought because if emotional whiplash is an actual thing, it's definitely a thing that she has now, but it's too late to have a ramble-y type meltdown of epic proportions and did she mention that she's tired?

"Let's just go to bed. To sleep," she clarifies quickly. "Is that okay?"

"Felicity," he hums, drawing out every syllable, his tongue savoring the taste of her name like the finest wine, and cradles her face in his hands. He slides his thumbs across her cheeks, just the barest brush, and she grips onto his forearms, not wanting to let him go even for a second. "I'll go wherever you want me to go."

Felicity smiles, all sleepy and bleary-eyed - the exhaustion bone-deep and settled all kinds of achy in her joints - and stretches up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his. There's a hesitance in the way their lips barely move at first – both aware of how tenuous this thing is between them right now – but there's also a strength in the way they cling to each other, a fierceness in the steady grip of their hands.

They share a breath when they eventually part – a sigh of relief or content, Felicity doesn't know. Both are probably warranted. She tugs on his hand and leads them backwards to her bedroom, watching him the whole way, their muted footsteps against the wooden floor the only sound. Oliver looks around the space, absorbing every detail and exit as he toes out of his boots and socks, shucking his jacket and stripping down to his boxers while Felicity turns out the lights and climbs into bed. She smacks and fluffs her pillow just the way she wants it and settles on her side with a weary yet blissful kind of sigh, and Oliver chuckles low at the sound.

It takes a minute or so before the bed eventually dips with his weight and Felicity reaches for his hand and his warmth, a contentedness in the way she sinks back against him as he curls around her from behind.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispers, squeezing his hand for reassurance – for him and for her – and when he squeezes back just as tight, printing a kiss and a whispery "Me too" against the smooth skin at her nape, Felicity grins into the darkness, biting her lower lip as if the action can hold all the babbling rush of happiness bubbling inside because no matter what happens, he's not going anywhere.

She knows that now.

There's a faint strip of moonlight falling so white against their hands linked loose on top of the sheets, and with the silent brush of Oliver's _I love you_ warm against her neck, the last domino finally falls.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Fluff everywhere! I have it in my head that Starling City is the comic equivalent of Seattle for some reason (at least on the show) so that's basically where they begin their road trip. Thanks for reading! :D

* * *

The blurry glow of sunlight burns the edges of her curtains as Felicity opens her eyes. It takes a few minutes for her brain to really focus, mind still thick with the lingering haze of sleep, and it's only the warmth and weight behind her that draws everything back in a panicky rush that has her body tensing slightly.

They're alive. They saved the city. Oliver came home. _To her._

Feeling her muscles relax with a whistle-y exhale of relief, Felicity rolls over and can't help the fluttery surge of affection at the sight of Oliver beside her, sleeping on his stomach, both arms curled underneath his pillow. She releases a silent laugh into her hand at the way his cheek is squished on one side, like he's in the deepest weightiest of sleeps, and she doesn't think she's ever seen him so child-like or at peace.

She knows he's not free from his burdens yet—doubts he ever will be if she's really honest—but the smooth slope of his brow is an absolute gift right now.

She almost doesn't want to wake him when he's like this but she's wanted to wake up beside him for so long. They never had the chance in Nanda Parbat — but then they never had the chance for a lot of things. She wants to rectify all of that.

Starting now.

"Oliver," she sing-songs, tiptoeing her fingertips down the side of his cheek and smoothing her thumb across his lower lip, lingering there for a second.

Oliver makes a grumbly noise of acknowledgement—more like a grunt than anything resembling words—and Felicity grins, tapping him on the nose, wriggly with joy that she can do that now.

"Oliver," she tries again, louder this time, pressing her face right up close to his before she remembers things like morning breath and slides back a couple of inches. "You're supposed to be taking me far away today."

"I will," he murmurs, his voice all sleep-rough and scratchy, eyes still closed. "Anywhere you want."

"Anywhere I want? Oh, the power! The possibilities!"

Oliver releases this breathy half—chuckle and starts to roll onto his side, rubbing his eye with the heel of one hand, his gaze pretty intense once he's focused on her properly.

"Hey," he says around a smile and really, two smiles in twenty-four hours is just ridiculous. She can't handle it. It's too much.

"Morning," she beams back, stroking the cut of his bicep because she can't stop touching him and she doesn't have to now.

Oh boy, he's really in for it.

"Is it still morning?" Oliver asks, the words garbled through a yawn. "I feel like I slept through to the afternoon."

"It's only ten, I think," Felicity guesses, squinting hard at the clock on her bookcase but it's all pretty blurry so she gives up. "That's probably like sleeping in for you."

"It is. I don't sleep much."

"Color me shocked, Oliver. I did not know that."

He laughs again, tugging Felicity closer, smoothing his palm down the curve of her side as she gets comfortable and locks their legs together like her favorite kind of puzzle, and apparently morning breath is not really one of his concerns.

"Hi," he says again, chin brushing the top of her head while he speaks.

"You already said that," she mumbles into his chest where she's tucked close, all warm and snuggly with his arm wrapped around her and the heat of his skin against her face.

"I feel like I owe you every hello we've missed recently."

"Oliver," she breathes, throat tight, and the sting of emotion is not something she expected today.

"I thought about you every day, Felicity," he continues, totally unaware of how overwhelming his words can be sometimes.

 _Damn him_.

"Not just when I was in Nanda Parbat but before that," he adds. "All the time."

Felicity nuzzles closer. "Me too. I tried not to but you know..."

Oliver brushes his thumb across her hairline and mouths a couple of kisses there, inhaling against her skin for a moment, and it's almost like he's talking to himself when he exhales, "I'm sorry I wasted so much time."

"It's okay. We're here now. As long as—" She pulls back to look him in the eye, feels a bit silly for asking, given everything that's happened but... "Are you ready to do this— _us_?"

"I've never been more ready for anything," he says, so sincere and heartfelt that her tummy loops and flutters again, the warmth of his words blushing her cheeks.

"It's not going to be easy though," she admits.

"Anything's easier than how we've been living. I don't want that anymore."

"That's true," she agrees. "But I'll be around you all the time. You won't be able to get rid of me."

He hums, "Sounds nice," and it really does with the dreamy way he draws it out, like he's picturing it and likes what he sees. "We're around each other most of the time anyway."

"Also true. But—"

"Felicity," he starts, waiting for her to look him in the eye again. "Are you trying to give me a way out? Because I don't want it."

"No, no way out. Just...making sure you know what to expect. I'm talking unattractive bed hair and stealing the blankets in bed and being grumpy and gross once a month—"

"Unlikely."

"Not to mention all the times we're probably going to argue. Only this time it won't be about you deciding to work with Malcolm Merlyn." She has to mentally tell herself to count to five against the anger she feels for that man but fails in keeping the bitter edge out of her voice when she adds, "Don't think I've forgotten about that."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Oliver says, seriously.

"It'll be over the little things," she continues on a happier note because the less they talk about Malcolm, the better. "Like, if you drink milk out of the carton or use a glass. Whether or not you leave the toilet seat up. I'm pretty interested in your damp towel policy actually."

"My damp towel policy?"

"Yeah. You know, whether you leave your towel on the floor after a shower like some kind of savage or if you hang it up to dry."

"I...guess it depends if I'm in a hurry or not?" he says haltingly, sounding so bemused it's almost endearing.

"Me too!" Felicity says, and she's really missed feeling like this, letting the joy of things seep into her words. "Actually, I'm pretty sure my towel from last night's shower is still on the bathroom floor. I had no energy to pick it up."

" _So_ lazy," Oliver murmurs against her mouth and it's impossible not to lose themselves in a long slow kiss until Felicity remembers her train of thought and—

" _Lazy_? Excuse me, Mr. Queen, but I've been doing two jobs ever since I met you, even more so this last year. Sometimes I'm so tired I fall asleep eating cereal. _Cereal_ , Oliver. I once woke up on the couch covered in milk and Lucky Charms."

"You eat Lucky Charms?"

"Sometimes," she smiles, bashful suddenly at the weight of his breath against her cheek and the thought of him finally knowing everything about her, every random meaningless detail that she knows he'll file away and never forget.

It's a little scary but exhilarating, all at once.

She ducks her chin and buries her face into his chest again, follows the edge of the sheet covering him with her fingertips and taps out a senseless pattern. Ones and zeros, spirals and stars. "I like lining up all the marshmallows on the edge of my bowl and eating them last. Always have."

Oliver catches at her fingers, runs his thumb across the shiny apple red of her nails in a way that seems absentminded.

"Thea and I were never allowed that kind of stuff for breakfast," he says, and he's tracing the lines of her palm now, measuring the length of her fingers.

"That doesn't surprise me," Felicity says, and it's so easy to picture it — the Queen family at the dining table in the old Queen mansion, plates loaded with fancy rich people breakfast foods like eggs benedict and smoked salmon.

At least, Felicity assumes that's what rich people eat for breakfast. She really doesn't know.

It's not Pop Tarts, that's for sure.

"You've been missing out though," she continues, trying not to snort-laugh at the image of Moira Queen eating a strawberry Pop Tart with a knife and fork. "They're magically delicious!"

Oliver huffs a breathy soundless laugh. "Do you have any? We could eat breakfast in—" He tails off when he notices the smile she's trying so hard to hide. "What's funny?"

"Nothing, just. I can't believe you're in my bed and we're talking about cereal of all things. This is not exactly what I expected for our first morning together. It's not what I expected at all actually. I guess I'm a bit turned around."

"I understand. This is beyond anything I ever expected."

"What did you expect? You know, aside from being dead which is yet another thing we need to talk about at some point." She screws up her face slightly and mutters, "The list is getting long."

"I don't know. Whenever I thought about us, I never let myself get far enough to fill in the details. We were always just together and happy and that was enough."

"Well then. I guess we better start filling in all those little details as soon as possible."

Felicity stretches up to brush the tip of her nose against his and Oliver frames her face in both hands to stop her moving away so he can do it again and again until she laughs at the sensation.

"How about I make us some coffee?" he suggests, stringing his words with chaste little kisses against her mouth, nose, the rose of her cheek. "That's a start, right?"

"Mmm. Coffee first is always a good plan. Go with that thought always. Oh, and I was thinking we should have breakfast with Thea before we leave, if you wanted to. I think she needs some big brother time."

"This is why I love you," he says, eyes soft and adoring, and Felicity bites her lower lip against the giddiness she feels hearing those words now because he's not leaving this time and relief doesn't even begin to cover it.

"So you'll call her?"

Oliver reaches for his phone on her bedside table and makes a show of scrolling for Thea's name in his contacts, showing the screen with a grin before he presses dial.

* * *

The coffee has just finished brewing by the time Oliver joins Felicity in the kitchen after his phone call, sliding up behind her while she smiles down at the two cups sitting side by side on the counter.

She feels the heat of his skin first, followed by the press of his mouth across the slope of her shoulder, just barely-there kisses and brushes of his lips that make her shiver. His hands are heavy against her hips and then he slides them up and around to bring her in for a big squishy hug.

"I thought I said I would make the coffee," he says, enfolding her tighter as she palms at his forearms crossed underneath her bust.

"I know, but I decided to break tradition. You should cherish it because it probably won't happen again."

"Hmm." He nuzzles the hair away from her neck and kisses the spot below her ear, makes a throaty hum when she arches into his smile. "So morning coffee is going to be my job?"

Felicity turns to face him, locking her arms around his neck. "I think that would be for the best. You're a morning person and I'm not. Makes sense you'd get the coffee. Serving it in bed is optional. I'll leave that up to you."

His smile lights up everything. "We're compromising already."

"Seems like it," she grins back just as brightly and ugh, they're pretty disgusting right now, like all kinds of mushy.

She's glad John's not around to roll his eyes.

"And what about breakfast?" Oliver asks. "Is that my job too?"

"Mmmhmm. I don't cook. Actually, I can't cook. Have I told you that before? I doubt it because when would we ever discuss cooking? I mean, I can bake but that's less cooking and more like science, I guess? Anyway, the point is breakfast should probably be your thing. And the less you think of it as a job, the better it will be."

"And why's that?"

"The moment you start thinking of something as a job, it sort of takes the fun out of it."

"And I'm gonna be having fun cooking your meals for you?"

"Well," she drawls, fingers skating over his scalp and down to lightly scratch at the skin behind his ear in a way she's recently discovered he likes _very much_. "I can think of fun things we can do that's sort of in the vicinity of cooking. Like, cooking adjacent."

"I'm listening," he says, a whispery growl against her mouth, hands clutching the base of her spine.

"Oh, you want the list now? Okay." She clucks her tongue while she thinks. "Hmm. Well, maybe things like not wearing clothes under aprons and finding out if kitchen counters are the right height for sex and there's also the chance for a whole _Nine Half Weeks_ reenactment we could do involving food, although not with things like peppers or chili. I always thought that sounded hot and not in a good way, more like in the 'careful-where-you-put-your-hands-after-touching-that' kind of way."

Oliver laughs quietly but his eyes are darker now and _oh_ , she's definitely got his attention. "And all of this will happen if I cook?"

She nods eagerly, her smile all gleeful and flirty as she tiptoes up to his mouth. "I think you've got great odds."

* * *

Thea meets them at an All Day Breakfast diner a couple blocks from the loft, hugging them both with a chorus of "Hey!" and "I'm _sooooo_ hungry!" before they all bundle into one of the booths by the window.

Felicity's used to this dance by now—choosing the table with the best view of every exit so Oliver can be on alert at all times—but it's still surprising to see Thea doing the same thing; her eyes darting here and there, her hand never far from one of the knives.

Her stomach sinks, heavy with dread or sadness she's not really sure, and she has to take a moment to plaster on a smile.

"It's funny," Thea says, looking up from her menu. "I keep thinking mom never would've eaten in a place like this." She flaps and wobbles the plastic to make her point.

"I don't know," Oliver says, running his finger over the crack in the leather seating where some of the stuffing is poking through. "I took her to Big Belly once. She liked it."

"SHUT UP. NO WAY."

"Way," he nods, and Felicity actually snorts.

The waitress reappears soon after, loudly chewing gum and barely looking at them while she takes their order and pours them coffee. Once she leaves, Thea rests her cheek against her brother's shoulder, looking so much like a little sister in that moment, all clingy and wide-eyed.

The contrast from the night before is pretty startling.

Still, Felicity shoots Oliver a smug knowing look, a patented mix of _'I told you so'_ and _'You should listen to me always'_ and she grins against her coffee cup when he rolls his eyes.

He's smiling though, hasn't really stopped, and it's so wonderful she could burst.

"So," Thea starts, pouring sugar on the tabletop and twirling spirals into the granules while they wait for their food. "Have you decided where you're going?"

Oliver matches Felicity's clueless shrug with the softest of smiles, so content and full of hope at the possibilities stretching out before them.

"Wherever we want," he says softly.

Thea frowns at that. "So you don't even know yet?"

"I think we'll probably just see where the mood takes us, I guess." Felicity frowns too because driving without a destination seems even crazier in the plain light of day and _holy frack_ , she really did quit her job to do this.

"I don't really know," she adds, chewing at her thumbnail, trying not to think about the huge crater of panic forming in her chest at what they're doing, how much she's changing her life right now. "I've never road tripped before."

"Really?" Oliver asks, surprised.

"Really," she shrugs, even though it's true. "My mom was always working and we couldn't afford to go away. We did day trips to the Grand Canyon and Sedona sometimes but nothing more. My first plane ride was from Vegas to Boston and then after MIT I came straight to Starling. So no travelling for me."

"This won't do," Thea says, shaking her head in disbelief. "Ollie, you have to take her everywhere now."

"I plan to. I already said, anywhere she wants."

"Ugh, you're so mushy. It's disgusting."

"That's what I said earlier! Well, no, I only thought it but still. We're kind of gross." Felicity laughs at the affronted look on Oliver's face, the way he straightens in his seat. "Oliver, it's true. We're gonna be one of those couples who make people roll their eyes as they pass us on the street."

He grins at that, as wide as she's ever seen. "I can't wait."

"Oh my god." Thea fake gags around her finger a couple of times but she's smiling. "Who are you?"

"I don't know yet but that's what we're going to find out."

Thea nods but her face is vacant now, like she doesn't really understand, and things aren't so funny anymore.

"And you have to go far away to do that?" she asks.

"Yes," Oliver says instantly. "I don't want to leave you. This is not about that. This about me needing some time and space from all of this."

His fingers hover against his mouth while he pulls himself together, takes a careful breath, the way he always does when he's about to share more of himself than he's truly comfortable with.

"Three years ago I came back here with one goal in mind and that was to save the city and die trying. That's all I've done since. I've done nothing but fight." He looks over to Felicity then, hooks her gaze intently so she's in no doubt of his meaning when he says, "Now I want to live."

The silence is charged with the weight of his words and it's probably appropriate that their order arrives shortly after, giant plates of pancakes and syrup and toast sliding in front of them, bursting their somber little bubble with the sweet smell of food.

Felicity smiles her thanks to the waitress but rests a trembling hand on Oliver's knee, just to let him know she's here and his words mean everything to her, and he clutches at her grip like a lifeline.

"Right. Well." Thea breaks the silence finally, shrugging like it's no big deal. "I can't argue with that."

"You probably could but he wouldn't listen anyway."

"Mmm. Sounds about right."

Oliver huffs a breath through his smile, the kind he gets when he's torn between frustrated and amused but can't settle on either, and starts digging into his breakfast, shaking his head the whole time.

"This is how it's gonna be, isn't it?" he asks, mumbling through a mouthful of toast.

"How what's gonna be?" Thea lifts her head to look at him, winkles her nose at the sight. "And gross, Ollie. Don't talk with your mouth full."

"You two. Ganging up on me."

Thea throws Felicity a puzzled kind of grin before her face breaks into an "Oh" of understanding. "Yeah. Sorry Ollie. We've bonded now."

Felicity reaches for Oliver's hand again and her pulse really likes the way he drops his cutlery instantly, weaving their fingers together with such certainty, out in the open for all to see.

"Yeah. This is your life now, Oliver. How do you feel about that?"

"I feel pretty good about it," he grins, punctuating his point with a squeeze of her hand.

* * *

"You'll call, won't you?" Thea asks, standing outside the diner, looking like she's not quite sure what to do with her hands.

It's past lunchtime now, much later than they ever intended to leave the city, but the ease of their talk and laughter over brunch had them lingering, all clinging to a moment of normality that has been so few and far between since, well, forever.

"Of course," Oliver says sincerely, frowning like he can't believe she even doubts it, and tugs his sister close, wrapping her up in his arms. "You know I will."

Thea clutches at his jacket. "You didn't really keep in touch much last time," she grumbles, a shade away from whiny.

"Last time?"

"Yeah, when you went away after Tommy died and..." She pulls away, closing the sides of her jacket tight across her chest in a gesture of defense and not against the cold. "You weren't skiing were you?"

The light of the morning slinks into a frown, and Oliver gets that dark faraway look in his eye while he goes back to that moment, that horrible memory.

"No. But I promise it will be different now."

"Yeah. He's got me to boss him around now. Not that I'm bossy or anything," Felicity adds hastily. "Just — I'll remind him to call you. And I'll call too! I might even try out some postcards. I like the idea of sending a postcard from every place we stop. That's very road trip-y. There's also email and texting and we could try out Skype."

"That would be pretty funny to see," Thea says, smiling now. "The Arrow trying to Skype."

Oliver's smile leaves his eyes again. "I'm not that person anymore."

"Whatever you say, brother." She taps his chest a couple of times. "Think of a new name then."

"Ooooh—"

" _Felicity_ ," he warns. "Don't."

"Well, that ruins all my fun. Maybe we should ask Cisco. He's pretty good at thinking up cool names." She scrunches her face, thinking better of it. "Most of the time."

"Cisco?" Thea asks, tilting her head slightly, and Felicity could kick herself because it's still really hard to keep up with who knows whose secret identity.

Even now.

"Yeah. He's from S.T.A.R. Labs. You actually met him at Verdant a while ago. You'll probably talk to him now that you're on the team. If there's any sort of tech you might need inventing, he's your guy."

"That's good to know. I think? I don't really know. I'm still new at this. I don't know what to expect."

"I expect you to be safe, Speedy. That's all that matters."

"Well, that goes without saying," Felicity interrupts before Oliver puts his giant big brother foot in it somehow. "But listen to Digg if you're ever unsure. He knows everything. Or you can always call me. I've got my tablet and my phone and if you need help or anything just get in touch. Anytime. I mean it. I'm not just saying that."

"Thanks Felicity. I'm glad we did this."

"Me too."

They share a smile probably a beat longer than necessary and Felicity has a split-second thought of _oh,_ _what the hell_ as she brings Thea in for a hug because she's not usually a hug-y person but she's feeling _so much_ right now. She's just about to pull away when Thea clutches at her, hands so fierce and clingy against her back, and all Felicity can do is smile and pat her in a way she really hopes is more soothing than condescending. She's pretty sure she's successful once she catches the muted smile on Oliver's face as he watches the whole thing.

"Do I get another hug?" he asks, clearing his throat slightly.

"I suppose," Thea says, sliding back into his arms. "You're coming back, right?"

"I'll always come back to you," Oliver says seriously, leaving little doubt that he means it. "You're my family."

"I mean, to the city. To your mission."

"Thea..."

"Look, I heard everything you said earlier. I know you need to go away. I understand that. I want that for you. You deserve to be happy and I'm glad you've found someone like Felicity to do that with because I like her, Ollie. I really do."

Oliver smiles, all gentle and dreamy-eyed, and catches the blush on Felicity's cheeks as she ducks her head and tries to pretend she hasn't heard anything, although that's kind of difficult when he won't let her out of his sight.

"Me too," he says.

"Yeah, I kind of got that." Thea jabs him playfully a couple of times, loving teasing him if the smile lighting her eyes is anything to go by. "But what I'm trying to say is, I think this is where you're supposed to be."

"Thea," he sighs, ragged and heavy with so many unsaid things, and Felicity knows he's biting back his frustration when he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to do this anymore. And even if I did, I don't want to think or talk about it yet. So can we just leave it, please?"

Thea searches his face for a long quiet moment, nodding slowly even though she probably doesn't agree. "Okay. Just call me when you do want to talk, okay? No more hiding from me. I want to know everything."

"And you will. I promise. No more secrets."

"Good." She nods again, and her sigh is a note of pure relief. "I love you, Ollie."

"I love you, too," he says, pressing a kiss against her hairline. "Be safe, okay? And listen to Diggle. He's not my biggest fan anymore but he is my family, which means he's your family too."

"Always listen to Diggle," Thea repeats. "Call you. Stay safe. I got it. Now go!"

There's time for one last hug and then she watches them from the curb as they climb inside the car and pull away, and doesn't stop waving until they're as hazy as the heat on the horizon.

* * *

About an hour outside of the city Felicity turns away from the sunny blur of the coast rushing past and says, "So...where are we going? I'm thinking a state that can annul a Nanda Parbat marriage."

Oliver huffs out another laugh, and it's all he's been doing, like he's practicing the action or simply making up for lost time.

"Can I say something strange?" He pauses, not really waiting for a response, and looks at the road ahead in more ways than one, his expression almost blissful and definitely content.

"I'm happy," he finishes softly, and guns the engine hard.

* * *

"You know, I do have one place in mind," Oliver says sometime later, raising his voice over the sound of the traffic around them, a bleating horn.

They've been driving south on the I-5 for a few hours now, not really talking about much of anything apart from where they're going because Felicity suggests a new place with every sign they pass.

"Tell me," she insists.

"My dad took me and Tommy on a camping trip to Big Sur when we were kids, not long after Tommy's mom died. We started doing different things to cheer him up. Camping, fishing, trips to the lake. That kind of thing."

"That's really sweet," Felicity says, tracing his fingers where they're linked between her own. "So Big Sur? Is that where we're headed?"

"I think so. Yeah." He nods at himself, like he's just made up his mind. "Is that okay?"

"More than. Wherever we want, right?"

"Right," he grins, and presses on.

They talk on and off after that, snatching conversation between songs on the radio and debating whether or not Felicity can actually rap and no, apparently she cannot, although Oliver's laughter once she tries is totally worth the embarrassment.

It's sweet and honeyed and a little unsure but her pulse skips at the sound.

Eventually though, they both grow hungry and tired and after a quick check on her phone Felicity points out that Big Sur is still another six hours away, depending on traffic, and so maybe a break would be for the best.

She also needs to charge her phone and take a long hot shower because driving along the freeway with the top down is definitely not as glamorous as it sounds. She feels grimy and dusty and _gross_.

The sky is black and starless by the time they pull into a small motel just off the freeway, with a gas station and a cluster of fast-food restaurants close by, but it's the glowing 'Wi-Fi available' sign that really sells it.

Felicity fist-bumps the air with a "Yes!" and Oliver just grins as he parks the car in the lot.

It's late once they've checked in and they still need to eat, so Oliver makes use of the tiny shower first while Felicity connects to the Wi-Fi on her tablet and makes sure everything is okay at home.

It's a habit at this point.

She finishes her mini-task just as the water turns off and the rattle of the shower curtain sliding back drifts out with the steam curling through the open bathroom door.

Taking that as an invitation, Felicity leans against the doorframe grinning dreamily at Oliver standing in front of the mirror with a towel hitched around his waist, skin still damp and dotted with water droplets here and there. He's studying some of the miniature toiletries she lined up near the sink, opening one of her moisturizers and smiling at the familiar scent of _her_ , and Felicity doesn't think she'll ever tire of looking at him like that.

There's so much power in the broadness of his back and the strength of his shoulders and how they tighten and clench as he moves.

He's beautiful. It's as simple as that really.

She lets her eyes slide leisurely from his bare feet pressing wet footprints into the bathmat, over his ass and up the line of his back covered with scars she knows by memory now, but her gaze stumbles on one she doesn't recognize on his shoulder blade.

The mark looks arrow shaped, pinkish-red and peeling in places where the new skin is coming through and all of the joy of the day has gone, just like that.

"Oliver," she starts, pausing to swallow the quiver of her voice. "What's—"

She steps further into the steamy heat of the room and Oliver seems to know what she's seen because he tenses and drops his head with a sigh, his shoulders going slack.

"Felicity—"

"I...I don't..." she trails off again because what do you say to someone who's been branded like an animal?

What do you say when it's the man you love the most?

She's usually so good at finding words and pouring them into all of the silent spaces and gaps in conversation, stretching it with noise, even if it's awkward sometimes, but now everything gets lodged solidly in her throat. She doesn't know whether to cry or scream or throw things, and the only other time she's felt such overwhelming anger is when Malcolm Merlyn had the nerve to leave a bloody sword as a sign of death in the one place she's ever really felt safe, the one place that truly felt like home.

Her hands are shaky with rage as she traces the outline of the scar with her fingertips, not really touching the skin where it burned but Oliver tenses anyway.

Felicity inhales a deep shuddery breath because this is definitely not the kind of detail either of them had in mind this morning and _don't cry don't cry don't cry_.

"It's okay," he says, so quiet it's almost a whisper. "I'm fine."

She doesn't really believe that but nods anyway. "Aloe Vera."

"What?"

She blinks rapidly enough for a single tear to drop a line down her cheek and she sweeps it away with the back of her hand, hoping he hasn't noticed.

"We need to get you some Aloe Vera gel. The skin isn't broken anymore so it won't sting and it should help it heal faster. We'll buy some tomorrow."

Oliver meets her eyes in the watery glaze of the mirror and seems to understand the depth of what she doesn't say — what she can't say right now.

"If you think it will help."

"It will," she promises quietly. "I'll even rub it in for you."

His smile is not as bright as before but it's something. "Even better."

Felicity stares at him sadly for a long moment, mouth twitching with an almost-smile, but then her eyes slide back to his scar again and the strength she's been drawing from somewhere these last few weeks sags from her spine.

She presses her forehead against the center of Oliver's back still damp with the clean scent of soap, curling her arms about his waist from behind and holding him close for a second, just a little more, and nothing else needs to be said.

It takes a minute but Oliver slides his hands across hers, tentative at first, and they both just stand there and breathe together for a while because right now that's all they can do and that's okay.

Right now, it's enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Chapter rated M for sexy times. I wrote this before the season premiere so some things discussed don't line up with canon but I decided to leave it in anyway. I hope no one minds reading a fic set during the summer while the show airs because that's apparently how I roll these days. Oh well! Once again, thank you so much for reading. Cookies for all! :D

* * *

Early Saturday the buzz of an alarm breaks the morning quiet. It hums and skitters across the bedside table with every beep, and Felicity reaches for her phone with a couple of blind pats, groaning into her pillow. She jabs senselessly at the screen and the buttons for good measure, mumbling "Uuuuugh finally!" as the noise eventually stops.

Peace at last.

The distant roll of the Pacific Ocean sifts back in slowly, along with the eerie tranquil of the woods and mountains surrounding their cliff-top hotel.

She's awake now though, reluctantly, so she shuffles upright against the headboard and stretches for her glasses, yawning and blinking all the while. It's strange because she doesn't remember setting an alarm last night and it doesn't seem like something Oliver would do. The guy is pathologically late for everything.

Grinning sleepily at the thought, Felicity's gaze falls on the other side of the bed and she startles at the emptiness, runs her hand over the wide wrinkled space. Cold. Probably has been for a while. There's a flutter of panic that hikes up her spine and swoops low in her chest and it bothers her more than it should—the niggle of doubt. She knows he wouldn't leave, not now, but maybe a tiny part of her faith in him is yet to fall back into place after everything that's happened.

She's— _they're_ —working on it.

Still, she can't help but wonder where he is, flipping her phone a few times while she considers whether it's appropriately concerned or too clingy girlfriend to send him a text but she forgets all about that as soon as she checks the screen again, her heart sinking at the alarm paused there.

An alarm for Oliver's birthday. His _30_ _th_ birthday.

"Felicity," she says, out loud, head rolling back with a _thud_. "You're the worst."

"No, you're not."

Shrieking at the unexpected sound of Oliver's voice, Felicity blindly throws his pillow as some kind of half-assed method of defense, too startled to be impressed that it hits him square in the face.

"I yelped!" she squeaks, and Oliver just grins at her, blissfully amused as he looks between her and the pillow at his feet and back again.

"You really did," he says. "It was loud, too."

Her shoulders sag in relief but Felicity rolls her eyes at herself and the sight of him standing by the door shirtless and sweaty as he glugs water from a bottle because _of course_.

"Apparently yelping is a thing I do now," she says, sliding from the bed, pulse still thundering in her throat and ears. "And I know you're a ninja but try to make some noise when you come into a room. I just aged, Oliver. _Aged_."

"I'll try my best," he promises, trying to be serious and failing, the smile settling deep in his eyes.

His chest hitches with every breath and Felicity eyes the bead of sweat drawing a path down the contraction of his abdomen, biting her lip as it bleeds into the waistband of his sweatpants and really, she needs to get a grip. Not on _that_. Well, yes on that at some point. Soon hopefully. But the view is nothing new. She's had her hands there and everything.

"Where did you go?" she asks, even though it's unnecessary in the face of all his sweaty breathless glory.

Really, his muscles are _glistening_ and taut. It's pretty fantastic.

"Just for a run. There's a great hiking trail around the resort." He pulls at the t-shirt hooked into his waistband, uses it to towel his face. "I get restless if I don't work out every day. Or maybe it's just habit at this point."

"It's probably both," she says, watching him nod and shrug in agreement. "Maybe next time leave a note?"

The pitch of her voice must betray her worries because Oliver pauses in toeing off his sneakers, gaze alert suddenly. "Sorry. I thought I'd be back before you woke up. I'll remember for next time."

"That's okay," she says hurriedly, twisting her hands into the hem of the t-shirt she's wearing. _His_ t-shirt. "I don't mean to sound clingy or anything. I just."

She shrugs, not sure what to say without hurting his feelings and she really doesn't want to do that, least of all on his birthday.

 _Frack_. It's his birthday.

"Felicity, it's fine. I was being thoughtless."

"No, really. You weren't. I'm being kind of ridiculous? I promise I'm not like this usually. I think I'm still." She gestures to her head and let's her hand fall away in a helpless sort of stutter because she's not even sure what she means by that anyway. "I guess part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

He nods in understanding, like she's making perfect sense even though she feels about as far from sense as possible right now.

She's like the human embodiment of glitchy code, all ones where there should be zeros.

"It doesn't seem real, does it?" he asks quietly.

Felicity shakes her head with a smile but there's no energy behind it, not now. If only he knew the number of dreams that started exactly like this, only to wake in the morning and he was gone.

"If you'd asked me this time last week if I imagined I'd be here with you, like this, I'd probably laugh. And then cry. Crying was my thing."

"And we're still being pretty cautious with each other," Oliver says, padding closer.

"Yeah. It's going to take some getting used to. Being together."

"It's good though, right?"

She thinks of yesterday and the way he drove for miles holding her hand across the center console, how she caught him watching her with a loving smile as she tried to read a map while keeping the length of her hair out of her eyes, failing and huffing every time the wind blew. She remembers the way he tucked her close and mouthed a kiss to her forehead as they stood at the hotel reception desk waiting to check in, the sense memory of his breath still warm against her skin somehow, and it's good.

It's _so_ good.

"I think so," she admits finally, smiling at both him and the memories they're building together and it's only been two days.

A lifetime of this makes her feel giddy.

There's not much distance between them now as they trace each other's faces with matching smiles and sunshine eyes, just getting lost for a while like they always do the moment their eyes lock; the world beyond them falling away.

Oliver is first to move, hauling her closer, pressing her up against the warmth of his skin heated by adrenaline and the early morning sun.

"You're really sweaty," Felicity whispers, lifting on tiptoes to throw her arms around his neck just as he bands both arms around her waist, molding them together solidly, no room for a breath.

"I was hoping to shower before you woke up," he says, nosing at the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Oh." She arches her neck and shivers a little, loving the feel of him and his earthy male scent. "Now I'm glad I'm awake."

Oliver grins, surprise lighting his eyes and the lift of his brow as he looks at her. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. What better way to celebrate your birthday than sexy shower time? Happy birthday, by the way. I should have opened with that but you went all stealth ninja on me and then my brain sort of futzed—"

"It's my birthday?" he asks, hands frozen against her hips, and of all his possible reactions, Felicity wasn't expecting _that_.

"You forgot?"

"I've not had much reason to celebrate the last few years. Or look at a calendar."

"Right." She winces, falls flat to her feet. "Sorry."

"It's—" He pauses again, brow furrowing as he takes a moment to think and he blinks a few times, looking a little knocked off his feet when he says, "I'm thirty today. Wow."

"Much wow. Big wow. It's a special birthday too, and I didn't even get you a present. I'm a terrible girlfriend. I'm sorry."

"Calling yourself my girlfriend is present enough," he says, the grin pressing hard and wide into the apples of his cheeks, and Felicity smiles too, softly poking at one of his dimples with her fingertip.

"I like these," she says, and then traces his smile as it widens further. "And I didn't know you were such a romantic."

"With you I hope to be."

"See, now you're just making it worse!" she says playfully even though she's pretty serious, too. "It's your birthday and you're the one being all flirty and romantic to me, standing here all shirtless and sexy. That's not how this is supposed to go."

"How's it supposed to go?" he asks, tucking her hair behind her ear, watching his fingers as he does, his gaze so tender—reverent almost—and oh, she's never felt so cherished in all her life. "Tell me."

She ducks her chin away from the heat of his caress, gives a one-shoulder shrug. "I was supposed to remember. That would've helped."

"Felicity, you're the one who reminded me it was my birthday."

"Only because I set a reminder on my phone! I don't even remember setting that alarm. It must have been last year or something."

Last year had been a good birthday, at least she thought so. It was an interlude of sorts, respite from thinking about Slade on Lian Yu and the clean up of the city, Diggle freaking out about becoming a father, Roy moping about Thea, and Felicity wondering if Oliver had truly meant what he said and _Do you understand?_ and uh no, she did not. Instead of all that, Felicity had arrived at the foundry on Oliver's birthday armed with pizza and beer and made her three guys sit on beer crates to eat and talk about something else, and it was perfect. Just a simple moment stolen from the usual pace of their lives.

"Okay, so you'd remember," Oliver persists gently, sensing her inner ramble. "What else?"

"I don't know," she says, distracted by the cut of his abdomen and trailing her fingers there. "I guess I'd surprise you with a birthday breakfast or something else that you'd probably brood over, like cupcakes or balloons."

"I would not brood over balloons."

"You would, Oliver. You'd get frown-y face like you do when Cisco touches your arrows. But that doesn't matter. The point is I'd have an actual present to give you." She frowns at that, remembering the point of the conversation, and no amount of pretty abs could make her feel less disheartened.

"Felicity, hey," he says, catching her wrist, brushing his thumb against the tick of her pulse. "It's okay."

"I know it's relatively meaningless on the scale of Worst Things That Ever Happened but I wanted to get you something. I guess I thought you'd still be with Ra's and it hurt too much to think about it."

It still does.

"Come here," Oliver murmurs, ushering her back into his arms, and Felicity falls willingly into his embrace, unable to stop from clinging to him for a moment.

"I hate that I just said that man's name," she mumbles into his skin. "This is supposed to be a happy day."

"And it is because I'm with you. Felicity, the amount of times I never thought I'd reach this age...It's all good. I promise. I have all that I want."

"Okay," she says, and it is, as long as he's happy today. She pulls away to look at him, takes a breath to get herself together. "You've convinced me."

"I'm very convincing sometimes."

Felicity bites her lip against the husky growl of his voice and really, it should be illegal for him to sound like that, looking like he does, all sexy and sweaty and _hers_.

Ugh, the nerve of him.

"Convince me some more," she breathes against his lips and just like that, it is _on_.

Oliver makes a sexy sound low in his throat that zips low in her belly and the second their mouths meet he nips at her bottom lip with his teeth, just a gentle tug as his hands slide everywhere, like he doesn't know where to start but never wants to stop. He clutches at her face and skims through her hair, his fingers catching on the sleep-mused strands before he skates an eager path down her spine to grab at her ass. Felicity makes a lusty noise of absolute content as he licks into her mouth and she melts like she's boneless suddenly, completely _melts_.

She doesn't fall.

They make out for a long while, just happy to be here like this, no outside threats or obligations, and Felicity smiles into every kiss. Their tongues slide together slow and wet and nothing else matters until Oliver breaks away for much-needed air, mouthing a breathy path down her neck to her collarbone exposed by the dip of his t-shirt hanging loose over one shoulder. He follows the stitching in the collar with his thumb, peppers her skin with gentle sucking kisses and nuzzles of his nose, drawing in the scent of her, and Felicity scrapes her fingers through his hair.

"Oliver," she breathes, not really sure why at this point, completely overwhelmed by the presence of him and his hands and the lick of his tongue and and...

Oliver slides his hand down the back of her panties, printing his palm into the swell of her ass, squeezing one cheek, feeling the flesh give in his hand. His touch is harder than she's ever felt and Felicity jolts with pleasure and need, gasping sharply into his mouth followed by an impatient little whine as she senselessly tries to climb him.

He groans through her name.

"Yeah, yep."

"We should—"

"Be more naked? I agree." She noses a line along his jaw up to his ear, tugs at his earlobe. "Why aren't you naked?" she whispers, soft and suggestive, scraping her nails against the elastic of his sweatpants until he jerks his hips hard.

"I'm." His grip tightens. " _Fuck_."

"Yes. Let's. Let's do that."

Oliver moans again and ducks to lift her, gripping her firmly where her ass meets her thighs, mouth open and hot against her neck. Felicity rolls her hips as much as she can in this position, watching the way his jaw clenches and his eyes close tight in a heady mix of bliss and loosening restraint. She's about to try again, loving the mindless look on his face when she does, but Oliver throws her on the bed and Felicity laughs with breathless joy as she bounces on the mattress instead.

She stops the second he climbs on top.

They're both breathing heavy now, his arms tense as he holds himself above her and lets his eyes follow a lingering trail down the restless line of her body, biting his lip when he notices the way her t-shirt has risen in the struggle.

She's only wearing a tiny pair of white cotton panties that cut into her ass fabulously _thank you very much_ , but they're pretty simple and nondescript. Hardly the most arousing underwear she owns.

Oliver does _not_ seem to mind.

He dips to kiss the bone of her hip, bites the skin, licks lower as her stomach clenches and trembles in response and Felicity is near out of her mind with _want_. Pausing to breathe against her for a moment, Oliver fingers the small pink bow sewn into the elastic of her panties and she shivers, running her fingers across his scalp just as he hooks under the elastic to tug them down and yes, oh yes...

"I—"

One of their phones rings then, a loud annoying hum from somewhere, and Oliver makes a throaty noise of frustration, dropping his forehead to her tummy to catch his breath.

"Damn," he curses against her skin before lifting himself off her slowly — reluctantly, she thinks —brushing his hand down the outside of her thigh as he moves to the phone where it's buzzing on the desk. He scans the screen and mumbles something Russian-sounding under his breath. "I thought so...It's Thea."

"Oh!" Felicity says, still breathless, pressing up on her elbows now. "She's probably calling to wish you happy—" She startles upright at the sudden knock on the door, snapping her legs closed as she frowns at him and they just can't catch a break this morning. "You expecting anyone?"

"Yeah." Oliver winces, looking between his phone and the door and over to Felicity on the bed, still flushed with arousal, nipples hard through his shirt. "I ordered breakfast earlier, seeing as it's my job to feed you."

"We said not to call it a job, remember?" she grins, climbing from the bed and hurrying to the door, even though she feels ten kinds of sexually frustrated right now. "You speak to Thea and I'll answer the door and we'll just...rain check on the other thing."

"We're rain checking sex?"

"Mmmhmm. For now because food."

She doesn't feel the need to add anything to that because _girl's gotta eat_ and her stomach is rumbling now that she thinks about it. But Oliver's phone is still ringing and she glances back to where he's watching the sway of her ass in a way that makes her body thrum with lust and he's not even touching her. She clears her throat with a pointed stutter and tugs on the t-shirt so it's covering her properly, the action enough to draw his attention upward.

He looks more than conflicted but Felicity just smiles.

"I promise it will be worth the wait."

His head tilts to the side like an adorable little puppy and he smiles back just as softly for a long moment.

"It already was," he says, throwing her a flirty wink as he finally answers his phone.

* * *

After breakfast they venture out of their hotel to explore _"Because everyone needs to do something on their 30_ _th_ _birthday, Oliver!"_ and maybe even find the campsite where Oliver stayed with Tommy when they were kids.

They end up driving north on Highway 1 with the top down on the Porsche, the sun bleeding a shallow warmth along the miles of winding road and jagged rocky coast falling into the sea. The route is pretty scenic, with little overlooks every few miles, and Oliver pulls over a couple of times just so he can kiss the lipstick from her mouth and Felicity can photograph his red-smudged smile.

She makes it her phone background.

Eventually they stop at Carmel-by-the-Sea to stretch their legs and look around and when they reach a plaza of shops and restaurants, Felicity convinces Oliver to stand in line for ice cream while she ducks into a lingerie boutique because she might not have bought him a birthday present but she can certainly dress up like one.

"What's in the bag?" Oliver asks once she reappears, handing her a small cup of mint-chip beaded with condensation and already starting to melt.

"Just something for later." She shrugs, looping the bag over her arm. "For our rain check."

"I see," he says, eyes dark with appreciation.

"Oh, I don't think you do," she laughs, digging into her ice cream with the little plastic spoon.

* * *

They walk around the town for a while, both kind of content with the silence and quiet pace of life around them but also a little hesitant considering it's the opposite of what they're used to. There's a light and newness to everything but they're almost startled by it, approaching everything like there's danger at every turn and it's too damn good to be true.

* * *

"According to this," Felicity announces loudly, studying a leaflet she plucked from the souvenir shop they'd just scoured for postcards. "Clint Eastwood was the former Mayor of Carmel-by-the-Sea from 1986 to 1988."

"That sounds fake, Felicity."

"It's not! This is an official leaflet, Oliver." She flaps it in his face for emphasis. "Oh, and apparently you need a permit to wear high heels."

"Now that really sounds fake."

"Imagine if I'd worn my heels today I'd be actually breaking the law right now. That's hilarious."

Oliver glances briefly at her cute yet very flat gold sandals but he seems pretty amused, if the quirk of his mouth is anything to go by. "Felicity, we broke the law all the time."

"That's why it's so funny. I break the law every day and I have to go on vacation to actually get arrested. For footwear. You know, these are the things I would tweet about if I had Twitter, which I don't because it's safer to have a small digital footprint with what we do. But getting arrested for wearing high heels would be a definite hashtag LOL moment. Roy would probably Retweet me."

Felicity laughs at herself and tucks the leaflet away in her purse, but it's only when she looks up that she notices Oliver's not laughing or smiling or even following her at all.

"What's wrong?" she asks, panicked by the intense frown-y look on his face, the kind he gets when he's thinking too much about the weight of his world and everything in between.

"I need to ask you something."

"O-kay," Felicity says slowly, not really following the change in mood but reaches for his hand anyway.

Oliver doesn't say anything else, just nods and looks around, scanning the area for somewhere more appropriate to talk, at least Felicity assumes that's what he's doing, and his eyes settle on the small park opposite. It's filled with kids on bikes and dogs off their leashes, noise and laughter everywhere, but there's a bench tucked away behind some trees for privacy and by the time they take a seat Felicity is starting to think the worst.

He hasn't said a word.

"Okay, what's going on?"

Oliver stares at the grass like it has all the answers. "The other day, when we had breakfast with Thea, you said something that's been bothering me and..."

"And what?" Felicity frowns, trying to think of every ridiculous thing that came out of her mouth that morning and she's not sure where to start.

"When you wanted to give me a new name, now that the Arrow is gone, it sounded like you expect us to go back. And just now you called this a vacation. Is that—is this just a vacation to you?"

She swallows hard and there it is, that swell of panic again, solid in her chest. "I didn't really want to talk about this on your birthday."

"Oh," he says, and his gaze drops to the grass again.

"No!" she says quickly, grabbing his shoulder. "Don't say _Oh_."

"What else am I expected to say, Felicity?"

"Anything but _Oh_ , all sad and disappointed. I don't want you to feel like that, especially not today."

"I don't care what today is. I care that we're basically living my dream right now but you don't really want to be here."

"Well, you're wrong!" she snaps, more than annoyed that he could even _think_ such a thing. "I want to be with you always, wherever we are. And like Thea said, we need this time away. _You_ need this time away. I don't want you to worry about threats and danger and all of that for a while."

"But?"

"But...you're a hero, Oliver."

Oliver shakes his head like he still doesn't believe it, looking off into the distance, and Felicity catches his wrist because it feels like he's about to move away.

"No, listen to me," she pleads. "That's who you are now and you always will be. And one day I think you'll realize that it's time to go home because this will never be enough."

"A life with you will always be enough for me," he says, so earnest and open, completely _raw_ as he looks at her.

"And I _love_ that you think that now, believe me. But it doesn't have to be enough, Oliver. You can have it all. It's my dream actually."

"What is?"

"You and me, together. Working as a team. We'd catch some bad guys and then you'd take my hand and kiss me and we'd go home. And then we'd wake up together and do it all over again the next day."

"And that's what you want?"

"Yes. I love what we do," she says around a smile, glancing at the twine of her fingers in her lap. "Before I met you and John I was kind of lonely and a bit lost, although I don't think I realized that at the time. I didn't have many close friends and I hadn't met anyone aside from Walter who believed in my skills, even though I was basically running the IT department. No one really saw me or what I could offer and after everything that happened with Cooper, I thought I liked it that way. I was okay with that—being the IT girl. But then you came into my life and you changed everything and I feel like I have a purpose now. Not that my life was meaningless before but. We do great things and that's important to me. What we do, Oliver. It's important."

Oliver runs his fingers across his forehead, agitation in the swipe of his hand. "This is a lot to think about, Felicity."

"I know, and you will. There's no rush. But I just want you to know if ever you want to go back, I'll be by your side when you do and I hope," she falters momentarily, just to wet her lips and swallow her nerves. "I hope you'll be by my side too."

He frowns, looking at her carefully now. "Why wouldn't I?"

She eyes him skeptically for a moment, huffing a breath of frustration when he shrugs at her pointed glare, seeming clueless and at a loss for words, and honestly, she's getting real tired of having to spell everything out for him lately.

"Oliver, you told me you couldn't be with me _and_ save the city at the same time. So you can't blame me for being worried about that."

"But things have changed," he says, and if he wasn't so adorable in his confusion she'd probably want to strangle him.

"Have they?" she prompts. "You chose the city before and this time you chose me. And even though I understand your reasons, there doesn't _have_ to be a choice. I think you can have both. I always have."

"Felicity," he sighs. "If we do end up going back to Starling and yes, I guess it's a possibility because Thea's there, I'm not ending this. Just being with you these last couple of days...waking up with you and..."

"I know, Oliver. I know," she says, cradling his face as soon as the words catch in his throat.

"I'm not letting you go again. I love you, Felicity."

"I love you, too."

Oliver smiles, so bright and sunshine-y despite the watery shine of his eyes. "That's the first time you've said that, since that night."

"Oh. Well." She inches closer until their mouths are a breath apart. "If it helps, I've thought it _a lot_."

"It does, it really does," he says, and then he kisses her.

* * *

Later that night, after dinner in small Italian restaurant overlooking the ocean, Oliver suggests a walk on the beach. It's a steep incline of rocky steps down to the sand, with only a rickety weathered wooden railing as support and not much in the way of light except for the moon, but they make their way down slowly, hand in hand.

Once they reach the bottom, Felicity uses his shoulder for support while she takes off her shoes, needing to feel the sand between her toes, and Oliver stands watch while she runs down to the shore. She knows he's not the biggest fan of the water — he tolerates it, he says — so she doesn't beg him to join her, but she watches him watch her with a tender smile as she paddles in the gentle crash of the growing tide.

They walk for a short while, their joined hands swinging between them every now and then, and Felicity babbles endlessly about the scent of the ocean and how moonlit walks on the beach definitely qualifies as him being romantic, and Oliver just smiles and watches her with a quiet adoration, like he's something lost that he's so happy she found.

She grins, picturing him with a tag around his wrist that reads _'If found return to Felicity Smoak'_ and laughs harder into his shoulder when Oliver asks what's so funny.

Afterwards, they head back to their hotel where Felicity excuses herself with a quick kiss and a whispered, "I'll be right back," discreetly grabbing the shopping bag from earlier before hurrying into the bathroom. She pauses at the door for a moment, watching Oliver step out into the darkness on the balcony, his skin silver in the moonlight as he breathes in the salt of the ocean air.

It's okay from a distance.

She's not sure how long she's in the bathroom but it must be longer than she intended because at some point Oliver actually knocks and Felicity jolts enough that the box she was studying and some of their toiletries go scattering noisily into the sink.

"Frack," she mutters under her breath.

"Is everything okay?" Oliver asks, sounding unsure even muted through the wood. "You've been in there for a while."

"Um. Yeah. Everything's fine. I'm just." She stops tugging on the strip of red silk she's finally managed to secure across her bust, and turns to the door, although she doesn't open it. "I lied earlier."

"What about?" he asks after a long moment of silence.

"Getting you a present."

She hears him sigh. "Felicity, you don't—"

"No, wait. I didn't buy you anything exactly, or maybe I did because technically it's _for_ you but whatever. The point is _I'm_ the present." She cringes at that, screwing up her face, but powers through the discomfort anyway. "And I'm naked except for this hopefully sexy ribbon... _thing_ that you can unwrap. It's taken me forever to work out how to fasten it, like an embarrassing amount of time really considering I'm a genius, but it's your birthday and you have to unwrap something so..."

"I get to unwrap you," Oliver says, voice gruff.

"Yeah," she breathes, pulse rushing at the thought.

Oh, _oh_ the thought.

"When do I get to unwrap it?" he asks, sounding closer now, like he's pressed right up against the door.

"Whenever you want. It's your birthday."

"Are you gonna come out of the bathroom sometime tonight so I get the chance? Because there's not much of my birthday left."

"Oh! Yeah. Hang on. Two secs."

Felicity moves back to the bathroom mirror to double check the alignment of the bow and how it sits across her breasts. It's pushes up her cleavage nicely and even though it's not the same kind of bow as the one on the box, it still looks pretty good.

Hopefully Oliver won't be looking at the bow anyway.

She nods and turns, craning her neck to check how good her ass looks in the tiny red lace thong, and nods again, satisfied, even though her pulse is racing, her face too hot.

It's pretty ridiculous to be nervous because this is definitely not their first time having sex but it _is_ the first time since Nanda Parbat. Even though they've been on the road for two days now and there have been a couple of lovely trips to second base, there was also a silent understanding that they needed some time.

But Felicity's ready now, _so_ ready, seriously ready all day long, even though it's different this time. Before, the sex was all about showing how much they loved each other when they thought they'd never get another chance, connecting on a deeper level. It was pretty soul shattering if she's really honest and her tummy gets all fluttery just thinking about it, remembering the weight of him above her, the moment he slid into her the first time.

But it actually feels like there's a lifetime of possibilities for nights like that—slow and sensual and candlelit—and so right here, right now, she just wants to throw herself at him. She wants to rip off his shirt the way they do in the movies, scattering buttons everywhere, wrap her lips around his cock and leave her lipstick there — mark him in all the ways she hasn't had a chance to yet.

She wants it hard and fast. _Needs_ it actually. Badly.

Which is why she's standing here, barely covered by loops of red silk and lace, dressed with the intent to seduce, and it's not really something she's ever wanted to do before. Or _had_ to. But buying the outfit had been a total whim, so much so that she didn't have time to talk herself out of it and so she's feeling it now, with all this time and space from him, her own reflection looking so unsure.

"You can do this, Felicity," she tells herself. "He loves you. He's attracted to you, like whoa boy." She fans her hand across her face. "This is just something fun and you need fun. You both do."

"Felicity?"

"Double frack," she hisses, blowing out one last fortifying breath.

Shaking her hair over her shoulders, she runs a fingertip around the edge of her mouth, checking for lipstick bleeds, and pops her lips together a couple of times, catching sight of herself once more in the mirror. It's only then that she really takes note of the complete package, wrapped up in some ridiculous red bow across her boobs, and she splutters a laugh that she tries to catch in the cup of her hands, clearly failing at the sound of Oliver's bemused questioning of her name again.

"I'm—" she starts, still giggling at the complete ridiculousness of it all because she wrapped herself up like some kind of present and who even does that?

"Felicity, just open the damn door already."

Felicity unlocks the bathroom door finally, pulling it open with little care or finesse for her earlier plan of seduction slowly slowly, bit by bit, tantalize and tease.

"I'm sorry," she chuckles, clutching at her side now. "I just realized how funny this looks and now I can't stop laughing and oh—" She stops and straightens. Swallows hard. "You are definitely not laughing right now."

Instead, Oliver's rigidly still and intense, hands clenched by his sides, eyes darting all over her with an eagerness she hasn't ever seen from him before, at least not like this.

"Because you could laugh," she adds. "If you wanted to. It's pretty funny. I look ridiculous. I won't be offended."

He doesn't move. Doesn't even blink.

"Would you turn for me?"

"Oh! Really?"

Oliver nods, and Felicity's not laughing anymore either.

Her pulse is on the side of heavy as she starts to turn, chest lurching at the breathy sound he makes when he gets a glimpse of her ass, the naked line of her back, the little indents at the base of her spine that she remembers him tracing with his fingers...

"Felicity. You. You're."

Turning in a circle finally, she draws his gaze up from her ass and presses her thighs together at the desperate need written all over his face.

"Are you gonna—?"

She points at the bow and he nods again, stepping closer, reaching for the end where it rests against her skin. He rubs the silk between finger and thumb for a second and then tugs, not taking his eyes off hers as the ribbon unravels in a slow whispery sliver.

Felicity gasps as the cooler air touches her breasts and tightens her nipples — the sensation tugging low and twirl-y in her tummy, making her wet.

"That, that was quick," she breathes.

"I don't mess around when unwrapping presents."

"I can see that."

Oliver moves then, brushing his fingers down her stomach and hooking them into her thong, tearing it down her thighs. The elastic tugs with his impatience, leaving little red marks where it catches against her skin, and Felicity pushes it down to help, wiggling a little to kick it away.

She's completely naked now except for a slick of shiny red on her lips and a pair of black heels, and there's something so hot about standing there naked while he's still fully clothed, watching her with dark lidded eyes.

She feels jittery, achy with need.

"Oliver," she breathes, and just the sound of his name and the way it catches on a whine has him pressing her up against the wall and melting her mouth with his own.

Their kisses are frantic and sloppy at first but there's also a desperate heat with every wet slide of their tongues that has them clutching at each other everywhere. His ass. Her thigh. The cut of his bicep and the curve of her spine.

The heat of his hands is too much though, too much and yet not enough, and Felicity's impatient to feel the weight of him again, feel his fingers curling inside her _just right_. She steals his hand from her ass and presses it between her thighs, letting him feel how wet she is, how much she wants him and where.

"Right _there_ ," she whispers, hot against his mouth. "Touch me."

And he does, sucking on her lower lip as his fingers circle and slide, teasing her clit with soft little strokes that make her hips stutter. She's clutching at his shoulders now, stealing his breath with every exhale when he slides two fingers inside her suddenly, deep and hard, quick then slow.

"How's that?" Oliver asks breathily, their noses sliding against each other as he fucks her with his hand. "Good?"

"Uh-huh, keep...Yes!"

Oliver grins against her mouth and starts to move, scattering kisses wherever he breathes. The arch of her neck, the smooth rise between her breasts, ducking to trace her nipple with his tongue, sucking lightly, nipping it with his teeth until she gasps at the sensation. He mouths at her ribcage beneath her breasts, his hand still working her up tighter and closer to something and everything, rubbing his thumb against her clit now, and she's so wound, so focused on the building pleasure that she barely notices his direction until she feels the nudge of his chin against her pubic bone.

Her eyes open wide. "What..."

She's a little lost for words at the sight of him kneeling at her feet because she knows his intent now and this is something they haven't done yet and oh boy, oh...

Oliver removes his fingers and trails a wet path down the back of her thigh, lifting and placing one leg over his shoulder, spreading her wide. He breathes her name in a soft brush of his mouth to the inside of her knee and then kisses down her thigh, watching her the whole time, learning every little tick and pulse, everything she likes.

The scratch of his stubble is everything.

Felicity's more than a little frustrated now, almost sliding down the wall with every desperate writhe, and patience is not her virtue as she curls her hand around the back of his head and guides his mouth right where she wants him. He grins against her and then licks a slow torturous line from her entrance to her clit, up and down, side to side, circles and eights and—

"Fuck!" she shouts, slapping one hand against the wall as she grinds against his mouth, all control lost to the movement his tongue demands.

He moans his pleasure at that, a rough throaty sound that vibrates in a delicious sort of shudder, and he licks her harder, deeper, stroking her inner walls until his nose nudges right against her clit and she pants breathlessly, mindless with need as she arches and rolls, arches and rolls.

Her thigh shakes where it's supporting her weight and her fingers are nearly numb where she's still holding him tight, and Oliver slides his palm up from her waist to cup her breast. He circles the areola with his thumb and then tugs at her nipple, rolls it in an electric pinch just as he moves to lick her clit into his mouth and sucks it, hard, and then she's gone, lost, shuddering messily against his mouth, vision white as she clenches her eyes closed to the wet frantic pleasure of it all.

"Me," she pants sometime later, trying to blink away the spots from her eyes as she comes down from her orgasm, still clenching around his tongue. "My. Oliver..."

Oliver gives her one final lick that has her jerking from the sensitivity and then he strings a line of wet kisses down the inside of her thigh as he sets her leg down and moves to stand up, still holding her up by the waist because her legs are jelly and she just cannot move and what even are words right now?

"I think you fucked all sense out of me," she says, dropping a few inches as she kicks off her heels and sags back against the wall, pressing a palm to her still-racing heart. "Your mouth—"

"Loves the way you taste," Oliver interrupts, his face lit with a dirty grin, lips shiny with _her_.

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"Why? It's true," he says and licks his lips with a growly "Mmm" to prove it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning wider when she actually squeaks.

"Is it my turn now?" she asks, because it is his birthday and none of her plans involved him making _her_ a wet quivering mess against the wall, although she's really not complaining.

"Later. Right now we're going to bed."

"You don't want to make more use out of this wall? It's a very good wall." She gives it a couple of sharp taps with her knuckle. "Sturdy. I like it."

Oliver chuckles and leans in closer again, pressing his erection into her stomach. "Do you want me to fuck you against this wall, Felicity?"

 _Yes please._

"Later?" she suggests with a smile, smoothing a hand down the line of buttons on his shirt and further down until she's cupping him through his jeans. "Bed first."

Oliver clenches his eyes closed and jerks his hips when she squeezes him lightly, fully tracing the length of him through the material, and he presses a couple of desperate groan-y kisses to her lips.

"Come on," he says, voice low and rough as he lifts her again, grasping her ass in his hands and giving the swell a generous squeeze as he walks them toward the bed.

Felicity nips at his mouth a few times on the way, smiling into every kiss, tugging at his shirt to get at his skin.

"This needs to come off," she says impatiently, settling on the mattress, and Oliver does what he's told.

He reaches for the back of his collar and tugs, sweeping off his shirt in one move, not disturbing a single button.

She'll get them next time.

He goes for his belt next, unbuckling and pushing down his jeans, kicking them away until he's standing there in just his boxers, breathless and hard, and Felicity scoots back on the bed, crooking her finger with a flirty little curl and spreading her legs wide.

Oliver practically pounces then, crawling in between her thighs, giving her nipple a quick hard suck before pressing her down with the full weight of him, catching her mouth with a moan, sucking on her tongue as he sets up a slow deliberate grind.

He hits the spot pretty damn perfectly, the material of his boxers rubbing her clit _just right, just a little more_ , but she wants him inside her now, needs it, and Felicity tears down his boxers just enough to take him in hand, stroking his cock a few times, thumbing at the bead of pre-cum until he groans into her mouth.

"Just fuck me," she says desperately. "We're good, we're safe, just, yeah."

Oliver seems to understand when he takes one last look in her eyes and lines himself up, braces his hands beside her head and enters her hard, a quick sharp thrust that has her gasping and arching and clutching at his arms.

"Like this?" he says against her mouth and Felicity nods until their lips are brushing.

"Yes! Oliver!"

He pulls out slowly and thrusts back in with a fiery smack of his hips, again and again, over and over, harder and deeper and grunting each time, setting up a frantic sort of rhythm, and they both groan when she clenches around him, heightening the feel of him stretching her so fully where she's hot and wet. For him.

"Felicity," he pants, wrecked and breathless from fucking her, and Felicity digs her nails into the sweat peppering his spine.

"I love this," she breathes almost dreamily, sweeping her hands down to cup his ass, loving the feel of the muscle clench as he works hard inside her.

"I love you," Oliver says, catching her mouth as much as he can, his pace grueling and unstoppable now, his focus narrowed to the slick slide of his dick in and out.

Felicity hitches her legs high around his waist, the position spreading her wider somehow, letting him hit her deeper than before and she feels pleasure-soaked and stunned as her orgasm hits a moment later, her walls milking his cock, her hips restless as they chase the sensation, her back arched and her breasts rubbing against his chest as she comes with a silent moan.

Oliver grits his teeth and groans desperately now, pumping into her faster, the force of it practically pushing her up the bed, and all it takes is one, two more thrusts and then he's coming, jerking and shuddering, gulping air against her neck as his hips stutter and he slumps on top of her in a breathy sweaty mess of relief.

Felicity mouths a couple of kisses to his neck, stroking the length of his back lifting with every hard breath and tracing the scars there, feeling the callous skin of his burn at the base of his spine.

"Mmm, I love you."

Somehow, Oliver finally finds the strength to lift himself and they both hiss a little as he pulls out. He falls in a heap on the bed beside her, smoothing his hand down the inside of her thigh where her legs are still spread wide and she's more than a little messy.

"Amazing," he says, rolling on his side to face her and, eventually, Felicity does the same, reaching out to touch his face, scratch her fingertips through his stubble.

"Hey, Oliver," she says, smiling when he meets her eye. "Happy birthday."

He grins, kissing the tip of her nose and the corner of her mouth, sliding his hand down the curve of her hip to tug her close before closing his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This chapter is 50% Delicity and I have no regrets! I miss those two. Sorry for taking so long to update this but if you're still reading, thank you. :D

* * *

"John Diggle, as I live and breathe!"

A deep throaty chuckle sounds out from the tablet propped up by Felicity's knees, the noise of it drawing her smile. She's tucked away in the shade of the hotel balcony, overlooking the Coast City bay, and curled up snug in one of Oliver's hoodies. The sun is out, bathing the streets and the beach below, but a sharp ocean breeze drifts over the glass and Felicity shivers as she slides the zip all the way up to her neck, scrunches her hands into the sleeves for extra warmth.

"It's only been a couple of weeks," Diggle says, still smiling. "But it's nice to see you too."

"Phew!" She makes an exaggerated swipe at her forehead. "I'm glad you said that. I was worried that you wouldn't answer."

"I'd prefer a text or a phone call to _this_." Diggle waves a giant hand in front of his computer screen. "But I'll always talk to you. I'm not mad at you."

Felicity nods kind of vacantly at that because his radio silence these last two weeks certainly made her _think_ he was mad, although she's not going to tell him that.

"I know," she says quietly. "And I'm not going to tell you how to feel because you have every right to be mad. I'm on your side there."

"And I appreciate that."

"But the problem is," she starts slowly, already wincing in anticipation for his reaction. "I'm totally in love with the man you're mad at and it's not easy, especially when I mention you and he gets this sad puppy-dog look on his face. You don't know what it does to me!"

The expression on Diggle's face lands on that edge between amused and uncomfortable because he probably does know, probably knows way more than he wants to after all this time.

 _He's seen things._

"Listen—" he starts, and the picture of him wobbles as he picks up his laptop and scoots back on his sofa, trying to get comfortable.

"John, lift your screen a little," Felicity interrupts, now that the perspective of him has changed. "All I can see is your stomach. Not that I'm not appreciative of _that_ ," she adds, circling her palm in the air to illustrate. "Your abs are A plus too, well done, lucky Lyla and all that. I'd just prefer to see your face while we talk."

There's another up-close wobbly view of one of his muscly forearms while he adjusts the screen.

"Better?" he asks, just as the wider scope of his apartment opens up behind him.

"Much."

She throws him a double thumbs up — mostly concealed within the sleeves of Oliver's hoodie — and Diggle smiles again, the fondness tugging at the corners of his eyes, and even the slow affectionate shake of his head makes her heart ache for home.

Usually she'd be running background checks on some villain of the week right about now, all the while trying to delete a virus that one of them downloaded by mistake, and shooing them away to give her space while she did her magic.

It's ridiculous to feel nostalgic for something she hasn't done for a couple of weeks but somehow she does, enough to draw a wistful kind of sigh from the pit of her stomach while she watches Diggle shift around on screen.

"Look, I don't want you to feel torn between us," he says, pausing to pull a stuffed duck from behind his back and staring at it with another fond smile before he tosses it to the other side of the couch. "I won't be an issue in your relationship with Oliver."

"It's not an issue between us, at least not what you think. Everything is great," Felicity says, and her smile is unconsciously done at this point, overtaking her face and stretching into her eyes, the warmth of it bleeding everywhere, just as it does when she thinks of him.

Because everything is amazing, more than she thought possible, more than she ever dared to dream. She wakes up to the heat of Oliver's skin most days and a "Good morning" whispered against her forehead followed by a few kisses and sliding grabby hands. Every night she goes to sleep wrapped in his arms, mostly breathless and naked and so unbelievably content.

That's not even counting everything that happens in between. Their connection is so much more than sex and chemistry that it actually surprises her sometimes — how in tune they are.

"Good," Diggle says, startling her from her thoughts. "You look happy."

"I am. _We_ are. Oliver is, well." Felicity shrugs, not sure where to begin exactly because the man is so many things and she's only just scratched the surface. "He's starting to be more open about things. It's great."

"Sounds like a but's coming."

"No, it's just..."

It's not a big deal really, not in the grand scheme of things, but there had been one incident — _The Incident_ as she's taken to calling it — and she can't help but think of it then, the memory like a little gray cloud, hovering in the distance.

A few days ago they'd spent the afternoon at the local mall, mainly to pick up a few essentials forgotten in the rush to leave. Oliver held her hand the whole time, a lightness about him that her smile was addicted to, and he hadn't even complained when she dragged him into a fancy boutique and spent half an hour trying on shoes.

She'd caught him looking a bit shell-shocked at times, like he was drunk on the absolute normality of it all but he just couldn't wait to take another sip.

It had all been going so well but then Felicity had spotted an old-fashioned toy store and all she could think about was buying something for Sara because she'd not yet had the chance, and maybe she'd been drunk on everything too.

"I saw this stuffed panda that I wanted to buy for Sara because I love pandas and what baby wouldn't love pandas, you know?" Felicity wonders out loud. "They're cute and fluffy and they don't have shifty eyes. But Oliver went all distant and moody as soon as I mentioned it and I knew he was thinking about you. He didn't really talk for hours which is always fun because when there's awkward silence something in me tends to want to fill it and that's never a good thing."

She's not even sure what she said exactly but she knows she mentioned Ray at one point and dear Google, just thinking about it makes her whole body visibly cringe, like it just wants to repel the memory.

"I'm sorry, Felicity," Diggle offers, and what she wouldn't give for one of his hugs right now.

"John, you have nothing to be sorry for. I guess, part of me needs you to know how affected he is by what he's done. I think not talking to you and then being reminded of you...He's really feeling the weight of his decision."

It's silent for a long moment, nothing but the crash of the ocean on her end and the hollow quiet of an empty apartment on his, and it's a sad stalemate filled with fears of how they'll ever repair what's been broken.

The three of them together, as friends and teammates — _family_ — has become so intrinsically important over the years that the depth of that fear honestly terrifies her.

She _needs_ them back on track.

Neither of them seems to know what to say until a loud gurgling shriek sounds from the direction of what looks like Sara's bedroom and Diggle turns his head to follow the noise, smiling brightly at whatever he sees.

She's probably crawling now.

"What do you want me to say?" he says a second later, and there's a harshness to his tone now, all joy melted away. "I can't forget this and I'm definitely not ready to forgive. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready. He broke my trust so badly."

"I understand," Felicity admits, her voice strained and quiet, because Oliver broke her trust too although that's not something they've talked about yet, even though they should.

She knows that more than ever.

"I don't expect you to say anything, not really," she continues. "I just think that if Oliver could go back and make a different choice, he would. You're his brother and he misses you."

"Did he put you up to this?"

"No. I don't need Oliver to put me up to anything. He doesn't even know I'm talking to you right now. He's not even here."

"But he should be the one telling me this."

She lifts her brow at that. "Would you answer the phone and listen if he did?"

Diggle nods slowly, more in quiet contemplation than any sort of answer, and swipes a hand down his face, the way he does when he's agitated. It's the kind of body language she usually sees directed at Oliver after he's said or done something especially frustrating, so it's pretty disconcerting to see it thrown her way now.

"I need time," he says eventually, and Felicity looks out across the ocean so he doesn't see the disappointment dulling her eyes.

It's not exactly the answer she was hoping for, even if it's a fair one.

"Well, that's easy," she says with a sigh. "Time you can have. I don't know when we'll be home."

"You're definitely coming home? Because Thea seems to think that Oliver doesn't want to and, between you and me, I don't think she's all that happy about it. Seemed kind of unsettled actually. Agitated."

"Yeah, I got that impression before we left. I'm sure we'll come back eventually. At least, I hope so. I miss...everything."

"We could still use your help, you know," Diggle says, and it's not really a shock that he knows her so well, knows all the things she doesn't say. "We're pretty lost without you actually."

Felicity rolls her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, surprised by the fire of adrenaline at the thought of hacking and running code; the tap of the keys beneath her fingertips. It's second nature now, to sit behind her computers every day, and it almost feels like something is missing when she doesn't.

But then she remembers the look on Oliver's face at dinner the other night, so serene and smiley in the candlelight as he traced the lines in her palm while he spoke about making everyday plans that didn't involve shooting people, finally getting the chance to be normal after all these years...

"Maybe you could just contact me for help with the really big _we've-got-no-choice_ stuff?"

Diggle nods, tilts his head gently to one side as he observes her for a moment, takes in the way she bites at her thumb nail, and she knows he's reading her like a book.

"I could do that," he says. "Whatever you want, Felicity. Anything would help."

"It's just that Oliver doesn't like thinking about going home right now or anything to do with Team Arrow and it's been nice seeing him so carefree for a change. I want to keep that for as long as possible, you know? His smile..." she trails off, tracing her mouth with her fingertips.

She's not sure why she feels the need to explain herself, almost like it's wrong somehow — to just drop everything in her life to be with the man she loves — and maybe it is, but it's not a feeling she really wants to delve into right now.

And it's not as if she's unhappy — she loves Oliver to the depth of herself, loves every moment with him, wherever they are. Cherishes it all. It's just...

 _Sometimes_...

Felicity looks out across the ocean again, not really seeing the waves with any kind of focus, too caught up in her own head and all the thoughts knotted there, and Diggle senses her need for a subject change when he asks, "Where are you headed next?"

"Oh." She blinks back down to the screen perched in her lap. "I don't know. We're figuring it out as we go along. But Oliver mentioned visiting my mom which, yay, _fun_."

She grits out 'fun' the same way she would things like _needles_ and _blood_ and _Isabel Rochev_ , wrinkling her nose at the thought of Oliver and her mom talking and over-sharing and the pictures, oh my god, _the pictures_.

Her sixteenth year was not a pretty one.

"I don't really want to think about that though," Felicity admits, flapping her hand as if she can delete the thought by action alone. "How are Lyla and Sara? Tell me everything."

"Lyla's good. She's just getting Sara ready for their Mommy and Me class. And Sara's perfect, obviously. She's babbling a lot now."

"Aw!"

"Yeah," he grins, and it's a different smile now, softening to a degree she's never seen before, lighting the lines of his face. "We're trying to get her to say Mama or Dada but her first word will probably be something like Glock or Gun."

Felicity laughs. "Gotta start them young, John!"

"Uh, no. We don't." He frowns, entirely displeased by that idea, but then his eye is drawn off screen again and he shifts, adjusting the screen and placing his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. "Speak of the cute little devil," he smiles, stretching out both hands and lifting Sara into his arms with a very un-Diggle-like, "Weeeee!"

Sara bounces on her father's knee for a moment, patting blindly at his face with her tiny hands, twisting and turning restlessly in his grip so that her pink t-shirt rises up her round baby belly, and she's so adorable that Felicity's stomach lurches with some kind of cuteness overload and yep, that's definitely her ovaries doing something there.

"Hi, Sara!" she sing-songs, waving her fingers at the screen even though Sara's looking somewhere at the other end of the couch now, probably at the stuffed duck thrown there earlier.

Diggle presses a series of smiley kisses to her tiny wriggling forehead, trying and failing to get her to look at the screen with soft little nudges and points of his hand. "Nope, she's not interested."

"That's because she's more interested in stuffed animals than computers but give her time," Lyla says then, appearing above Diggle's shoulder. She ducks into the frame, pressing a kiss to the back of his head as she gazes directly at the camera. "Hi, Felicity. How are you?"

"Lyla, hey!" Felicity sits up straight, body alert, face too hot suddenly. "I'm good, great actually and I...don't know what to say?"

"Relax, Felicity. It's okay. We're good. Aren't we, Johnny?" she prompts, curling her fingers into his shoulder for a light yet insisting squeeze just before she walks away.

Diggle stares at Sara for a long moment, arranging her on his lap properly and giving her the stuffed duck to hold, a tender smile breaking his resolve when she shouts "Da!" and stuffs the beak into her mouth.

"Yeah," he says finally, soft and quiet. "We're good."

Felicity melts at that, her whole body going slack with a mixture of joy and relief, and she's so absorbed in that feeling that she doesn't notice Oliver enter the room.

"Felicity?"

"Oliver!" She jumps slightly, clutching her tablet hard as she turns to look at Oliver standing by the sliding balcony door. "I...I thought you were doing laundry!"

"Laundry?" Diggle repeats at the same time Oliver says, "I was," frowning at the breathy pitch and rush of her voice.

"Who are you talking to?" he asks.

"Oh, um—"

"Me," Diggle announces loudly, tone harsh and jaw tight, and Oliver's gaze lands instantly alert on the small screen in her hands.

"Digg." He swallows hard, nods once, all very curt and precise in his movements, and Felicity doesn't miss the tense set of his shoulders or the restless roll of his finger and thumb. "Hey. How—"

"We're finished anyway," Diggle says in lieu of any kind of greeting and, apparently, that is that.

There's another excruciating beat of silence where no one knows what the hell to say and the moment veers from awkward to overwhelming to unbearable the longer it ticks on. It's especially gutting because silence has never been a problem between the three of them before. There's been anger and disappointment on all sides and in every shade but they always talk things through eventually, as a team and as friends.

Until now.

"Okay, um, I'll speak to you soon, John," Felicity says, all too aware of the weight of Oliver's stare and how her heart hurts so much. "Don't forget there's the gift for Sara coming your way soon."

"I'm sure she'll love it," he says, stroking the back of Sara's head where she's settled against him, still clutching at her little stuffed duck. "Look after yourself, Felicity."

And then the screen goes black.

Felicity closes her eyes with a wince, her body sagging in defeat and maybe sadness, too. It's quiet while she folds the protective covering over her tablet, just something to do with her hands, and swallows down her nerves over what to say — what Oliver might say. He's still standing there, duffel bag in hand, presumably filled with their clean laundry, but his expression is unreadable and his silence is all too much.

"Listen, Oliver—"

"I need to put this away," he grits out, slowly backing away from the door. He stops for a moment, still staring at her intensely, but then he gives his head a frustrated shake and marches out of the room without another word.

* * *

A while later Felicity hovers in the bedroom doorway watching Oliver sort their freshly washed laundry into _His_ and _Hers_ piles on the bed. There's something so meticulous about the way he works, from sharpening arrows to folding the silk of one of her skirts. It's the same care and consideration, whatever he does, and she always loves to watch him.

Not so much this time.

"I should probably hang that skirt up," she says, trying to keep her voice lighter than she feels. "Silk, it...creases."

"Fine," Oliver says, and marches over to the closet to clip her skirt onto one of the empty hangers, leaving it swinging on the rail once he's done.

"Are you...are you mad at me for talking to John?" Felicity asks, because he definitely _looks_ mad, with his muscles all tense and the way he can't even look at her right now and seriously, the hanger is still hitting the back of the closet with intermittent _thunk thunk thunks_.

And she knows he noticed her, with his freaky ninja hearing and the fact that she's been standing in the same spot for the last two minutes just waiting and watching to see what he'd do.

"No," he says flatly. "Of course not."

"That was convincing."

"Felicity," he starts, _thisclose_ to snapping, sounding more than a little exasperated. "I'm not mad at you for talking to our— _your_ friend."

She marches straight into the room then, folding her arms with a huff. "Really? Because you have your grumpy face on and you're barely looking at me. And you just said _your_ friend, all pointed and emphasized and what even _is_ that?"

"That's because I'm mad at myself, Felicity. Seeing you talk to John just reminds me that I don't have that privilege anymore and it's hard. Surely you understand that."

Her shoulders soften at that. "You could try talking to him," she suggests hopefully, frowning at the way he shakes his head before she's even finished her sentence.

"I've sent texts. He never replies."

"So you're giving up? A text isn't good enough, Oliver. Not after what you did."

"Of course," Oliver huffs a frustrated breath out through his nose, folding the laundry a little faster now. "You're still mad at me too."

"Yes! I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Maybe because you're here with me now?" he says incredulously. "I thought we'd moved past this."

"Not talking about it does not qualify as 'moving past' anything. And I'm here because I love you and being with you makes me happy. But that's completely separate from what you did to John. I can love you and still hate what you did. You took his wife and left his baby all alone! On what _planet_ is that okay?"

"Don't you think I know that?" he says, his voice a shred away from shouting, and the laundry folding is definitely abandoned now. "I didn't _want_ to kidnap Lyla and leave Sara all alone but it was the only way to convince Ra's that I wasn't Oliver Queen anymore."

"Why not kidnap me or Thea?" Felicity wonders, because she's thought about this for weeks now, ran through every possibility, and it just doesn't add up. "Wouldn't that have done the same thing, taking someone you love?"

"It was more of a strategic choice. I thought Lyla would understand that I was doing what needed to be done. She's worked with Waller, she knows how these things work."

"And that almost makes sense if you didn't leave their cute little baby completely defenseless."

"I timed it, Felicity. She was alone for five minutes, if that."

"Oh my god, you're not getting it, Oliver!" She turns away from him then, shaking her head in frustration and glaring at the floor while she gets a handle on her temper, clenches the anger in her shaking fists.

"What if we hadn't gone to John's house at that moment?" she asks, watching the pinch of his brow and it's like talking to a wall sometimes.

"What if we'd changed our minds? Sara could've been left alone for a lot longer than five minutes."

"But she wasn't," Oliver insists, still looking confused.

"BUT SHE COULD HAVE! Anything could've happened. She could have climbed out of her crib and hurt herself. A fire could've started. Someone could've broken in and harmed her in some way. You can't bet on a plan when there are children involved, Oliver!"

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, reaching for her before he thinks better of it, like he knows she doesn't want to be placated with his touch right now, and he clamps his hands by his sides. "I know it wasn't an ideal plan but my options were limited. I never thought I'd be sent back to Starling so soon, if at all. It threw me. I had to think of something quickly."

"Maybe if you'd told us what you were planning all along, we could have worked something out." She tries not to snap at him but the bitterness she feels at being kept in the dark still lingers, still sharpens her words.

"I don't know what to say, Felicity," Oliver murmurs, his whole body seeming to slump and the fight just falls out of him like the air from a burst balloon.

"If...If you had the chance to go back and do things differently, would you?"

Oliver looks at his feet for a long moment and the ocean has never sounded so loud.

"I like to think I'd tell you and John the plan but I don't know," he admits quietly. "I did what I had to do to protect the people I love the most. I did what I thought was best."

Felicity stutters backwards a few steps, the rage a stifling kind of heat that burns at the back of her throat, and her eyes are stinging but she can't cry in front of him, not now. She tries to swallow it down as best she can, keeping her voice steady. "I can't believe I just lied to John and said you'd make a different choice, given the chance."

"Felicity, I—"

"I need some air," she says with a glare, shaking her head at him when he moves to follow.

* * *

The angry slap of her flip-flops matches the race of her heart as Felicity stomps across the hotel lobby. She has no purse, phone or tablet — something she only realized in the elevator — but going back to their room now would ruin the effect of a nice storm-out and a small part of her wants Oliver to sweat a little, to think about what he's done. It's childish and mean but the feeling is beyond her control right now.

Ugh, she could just strangle his stupid handsome neck sometimes.

Outside, she lets the sun warm her skin while she takes a calming breath and a long look around. The area is packed with people in shorts and bikinis, some carrying surfboards and camping chairs and rolled-up towels, so she takes their cue and heads across the street to the beach.

Finding a quiet spot, she folds Oliver's hoodie into a headrest and stretches out, digging her feet into the sand and closing her eyes against the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun. She listens to the hum of the waves for a while, tries to unlock her jaw and unclench her muscles still tense from earlier but nothing is really working right now.

She tilts her head back, squinting at their hotel across the street, and finds their balcony easily — it's pretty hard to miss with Oliver leaning against the railing and looking out across the sea. She knows he's brooding, even though she can't really see his face properly, but the defeated slump of his shoulders is easy to spot from any distance, and maybe she shouldn't have stormed out the way she did.

Because she knows Oliver was only trying to protect the people he cares about. She knows he was doing what he thought was best. She's always known this about him. How deeply and easily Oliver loves, even after everything he's been through, is one of her favorite things about him. It's just...He never seems to realize that people love him just as much. He never wants to let anyone else in, at least not completely.

The sound of laughter drifts over from somewhere then and Felicity can't help but follow the noise, shielding her eyes from the sun with a flattened palm. A young couple sits on a large striped beach towel, the woman curled between the man's legs and clutching his knees while he lotions her shoulders, smiling and laughing as they talk, and it's amazing how quickly things can change.

Because yesterday it was her tucked between Oliver's legs, and it was Oliver's hands playing with the ties of her bikini top while he smoothed lotion across her back and kissed his favorite spot where her hair feathered into her nape. It was Oliver's smile pressed to her skin, and it was their laughter filling the air with the sweetest sound.

Her heart is heavier when she looks back at their balcony again but Oliver is nowhere to be seen, so Felicity rolls over, cups her hands over her ears, and closes her eyes.

Just for a little while.

* * *

The sun is in its slow sink to the horizon by the time Felicity returns to their hotel, hungry, thirsty and probably sunburned now that she thinks about it. Her nose feels hot and tight and there's already an unfortunate-looking red mark on both feet where they dug into the sand.

She makes her way to their room, not even sure Oliver will be inside considering she left him there for hours, and her fist hovers an inch away from the door for at least a minute before she blows out a breath and musters the strength to knock.

It's silent for longer than she was anticipating and her stomach actually falls at the thought that he might not be waiting for her.

 _What if she pushed him too hard?_

She's just about to back away, her brain already calculating her options, the emotion and panic already clogging her throat because she shouldn't have ran away, she knew this, _why did she have to be so petty_ , but then the door flies open and Oliver's standing there both breathless and agitated, though the latter melts away as soon as he sees that it's her.

"Felicity," he whispers, surprised — desperate almost — at the sight of her in the doorway.

"I forgot my keycard," she says, hesitant while she waits for him to speak, but when he just blinks at her she gives up and wanders inside.

"I thought..." Oliver trails off, confused as Felicity moves to the mini-bar, and she's already glugged half a bottle of water by the time it takes him to get it together and close the door.

"I thought you'd gone," he finishes, clearly not sure what else to say, and Felicity's glad because that makes two of them.

"I told you I needed some air," she admits quietly, wiping the ring of water from her mouth and staring at the sand still covering her feet.

"For four hours?"

She bristles at that and finally looks at him. "Yes, actually. Occasionally I need to clear my head and I storm out like a drama queen. It's one of my flaws. And then sometimes I might fall asleep on the beach without meaning to. That's something you should know about me, now that we're doing this."

"We're still doing this?" he asks, kind of hesitant now, and _damn him_ and his puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, you big loveable dummy," she says softly, stepping closer, and his shoulders actually fall in relief, and _frack_ , she really should've come back sooner. "I'm not giving up after one fight. Are you?"

"No, of course not. But I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to. I hurt you and Digg. I broke your trust. I get it. Sometimes it's all I can think about."

She stays quiet then, holds herself tense, because this is what she's been waiting for— an explanation for why he did what he did, any kind of believable reason why he lied to the two people who've been there for him through everything.

"The truth is, Felicity," Oliver starts, latching onto her arm just in case she runs away again. "I don't know if I'd do anything differently if I had the chance. I can't make guesses like that. You and Digg have become two of the most important people in my life and I just...I had to keep you safe. That's all I was thinking. Any time there's even a threat to the people I care about, I panic."

"And you make bad decisions."

"Sometimes."

She scoffs, the noise grating at the back of her throat. "A lot of the time actually."

Oliver presses his lips together tight for a second and Felicity knows he's trying not to snap, even though he looks pretty amused too, like he finds everything she does delightful even when he's mad and trying to be serious.

"Yes," he admits, slowly, like it actually hurts. "I've made some bad choices but it's mainly out of love and need to protect and I won't apologize for _that_ , for loving you so much. I can't Felicity."

"So, what? We're supposed to just accept your occasional stupidity just because you love us and want us to be safe? Because I don't think we can live like that, Oliver."

"No, but I can't change who I am."

"No one is asking you to. We just wanted to be kept in the loop. Even if we thought infiltrating the League was the craziest idea ever — which it was, FYI — if you had told us this was the only way we could have come up with a better plan, one that we all knew about. Maybe you wouldn't have been so unprepared and we definitely wouldn't have been so blindsided."

He looks pretty thoughtful at that and starts to nod, though it seems more absentminded than anything. "Maybe."

"You just have to let us help you." Felicity catches his wrist with one hand and tugs at his t-shirt with the other, pressing close. "That's all we want, not to be kept in the dark about decisions that affect our lives as much as they affect yours. Do you understand that?"

"I do," he says quietly, seriously, and for the first time she actually believes it.

"Well," she says with a satisfied nod, because that went a lot easier than she expected. "Good."

"It's just I've been doing this by myself for so long, Felicity, that sometimes—"

"You haven't been doing this by yourself for three years, Oliver."

"I know that. But when the threat level gets too high and too close, I panic. I'd rather sacrifice myself than have anyone else get hurt." He looks away for a moment, and by the time he looks back at her he's frowning with some kind of realization. "It's like I can't help it."

"I know," Felicity smiles, faintly, as she palms at one side of his face, rubbing her thumb against the scruff of his jaw, and smiling wider when he leans into her touch with a blissful close of his eyes. "And that's understandable after everything you've been through and it's something we have to work on. Because we're a team, aren't we? We're in this together. You're not just sacrificing yourself anymore. What would I have done if you had died, Oliver? If you never came back to me?" The words nearly stutter in her throat and her voice quivers when she adds, "I love you so much and it hurts me that you could just throw your life away like it means nothing, like we'd just get on with our lives as normal."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, moving to cradle her face in his hands, his eyes watery with tears that match her own. "Hurting you is the last thing I want. And I hate what I did to Lyla and Sara. I hate it so much."

"I know," she says, smoothing her hands down from his wrists to his elbows, and she's clutching at him now. "Just...don't do it again, please. _Please_."

"I won't," he whispers, and it's a breath and a promise all wrapped in one. "I won't."

"And please keep trying with Digg," she insists, closing her eyes as Oliver presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "You've been through so much together to let things fall apart now."

"I can't promise that it will make any difference but I'll keep trying. I miss him. I miss talking to him."

"He misses you too. That's why he's so angry and hurt — because he still cares. Give him time but don't give up."

"Okay. I can do that but Felicity? Please don't run away again. Even if you're furious with me, don't leave. I'd rather you shout at me for four hours than have to sit here and wonder if you're not coming back."

"Oh. Oliver, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" she stops and sags against him, presses her forehead to his chest for a moment. "I guess we both have to work on some things, huh?"

He smiles, dots a kiss to the tip of her nose and nuzzles it with his own. "We're a work in progress."

"How about we take this work in progress to bed?" she suggests then, biting her lip a little because she might be tired and sunburned but four hours away from him is just too much. "We get to have make-up sex now and I don't know about you but—"

He cuts her off with a kiss, just a soft chaste press of his lips, but it's enough for her body to sink against him.

"I thought you'd never ask," he breathes against her mouth, matching her slow delighted grin as he backs her towards the bed.

* * *

"So, I'm thinking Coast City is not really the place for us," Felicity confesses the next morning, snuggled against the naked heat of Oliver's skin, her cheek pressed to the quiet thud of his heart.

Outside, the ocean is still and there's no sound but the distant squawk of a seagull and the brush and sway of the curtains with the breeze.

"Why?" Oliver asks, and his voice is a low sleepy rumble in her ear, a buzz against her teeth.

"Well, we've argued here," she says, matter-of-factly. "I don't like it."

Her whole head lifts with the movement of his chest as he exhales a quiet laugh.

"Felicity, it's not the first time we've argued and I doubt it will be the last."

"Hmm. I guess."

"I've never had the best luck in Coast City anyway," Oliver admits, stroking the length of her forearm where it rests on his chest, his fingertips soft and shivery against her skin. "So I don't mind if it's time to move on."

"Why'd you say that?" she asks, angling her head to look him.

He's rubbing at the bone at her wrist now, tracing it in circles, like he's committing every part of her body to sense memory.

"I actually spent a few months here after my time in Hong Kong, but then Amanda Waller tracked me down and dumped me back on the island."

"Wow. That's...I knew I didn't like her." Felicity sits up suddenly, tugging the sheet to cover her breasts. "Why didn't you say anything when I suggested we stopped here?"

He shrugs, like it's no big deal. "You wanted to try the pizza because it was the 'Best in the West' or something."

"True, but you can blame Barry for that. He's always texting me about food. It was a recommendation!"

"And it was a good one." He grins, catching her hand when she moves to give him a playful shove. "That pizza was pretty great."

"Still, we didn't have to stay. I mean it, Oliver. If somewhere has bad memories for you, you can tell me. We don't have to go wherever I suggest just because you're trying to make me happy. I'm with you. I'm already happy. Everything else is just window dressing, okay?"

Oliver smiles — beams actually — and Felicity loves the way the joy of the moment softens the lines of his face, the wrinkle of his eyes. She loves that _she_ has the power to do that — transform his whole face just by reminding him how much he's loved.

"Okay," he says quietly, breathing a long lingering kiss to the back of her hand.

"How about we fly somewhere this time?" she suggests, sliding back into that perfect slot under his arm where she always feels warm and snug and so safe. "We could turn in the Porsche back to the rental place and just take off."

"I thought we were going to Vegas."

"Oh, we don't need to do that! Vegas is not going anywhere."

"Yeah. Nice try, Felicity," he says with a laugh. "We're going to visit your mom. I want to get to know her better."

"Frack," she whispers, and Oliver just smiles.

"You never know," he says, squeezing her closer, bringing her hand to his mouth so he can kiss her fingertips. "You might even enjoy yourself."

"Let's not get too crazy, Oliver."

"Well, it's Vegas. Anything can happen, right?"

Felicity sighs against him, unable to stop thinking about her mother let loose around _former billionaire Oliver Queen_ and oh god, oh no.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," she whispers, just before she closes her eyes.


End file.
